The Raft: A Novel (44 page)

“That must be it then,” Gideon said.

“Must be.”

We were now at the whim of a plan that hadn’t been revealed. And all we had to do was sit back and let the Silver Whisper take us wherever we needed to be. We could see everything through the shell: the family nucleus, waving and smiling, the rugged stone house Shen had built as a retreat from a broken world, the long unused road, the mountains, the desert land and the untarnished sky.

The pod floated forward slowly, from under the shelter of the gazebo. As it moved, the vines shook on their arch and the flowers trembled in their wheelbarrow. The sound of the engine grew from a low drone into a high-pitched hum, and then all sound stopped; we could hear nothing. It was the silence of a vacuum. I could hear my own heart beating and Gideon’s calm, metrical breath.

I was just about to say that something was wrong when the pod rose rapidly in the sky, suspending us high above the land, then raced forward at a perfect right-angle to its ascension.

In a second, the house and the family were far behind us. The Silver Whisper blistered through the valleys at an unthinkably high speed. Inside our bubble, we felt nothing. We might just as well have been sitting in the red armchairs in Father’s conservatory. I looked back at Gideon, seated in the row of chairs behind me. He was looking through the transparent floor at his feet. Far below, within the stone gullies of the mountains, bush willow trees looked like tufts of moss. Narrow rivulets split into tributaries that ended in marshy green or continued winding along the ravine. Above, the full sun beamed through the tinted ceiling. The horizon showed no hint of what else lay ahead. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d think that what lay below was all that was left, that mankind had already been wiped off the face of a tired and frustrated world.

I did not know how long our journey would take, but I was left with no choice but to trust in the vessel, to trust in the plan. I was too exhausted to dwell on any dire alternatives. I rested my head against the chair, closed my eyes, and thought about what I would say to my son the moment I saw him. I’d hold him close. I’d tell him I loved him, in case he’d forgotten. And then I’d show him a better world than the one he’d been forced to accept. I didn’t know how—or if there was a better world left to be had—but I’d try.

The Whisper sped effortlessly across the unending blue sky, towards a long and impossibly distant horizon.

Andy, don’t tease your sister.

But Dad—

Hey big guy. You’re the older brother. That means you should know better.

I really need to pee, though.

I know. There’s a recharge station up the road. We’ll stop there. Just hold it.

But if I hold it I’ll get a bladder infection.

Who told you that?

I read it.

Uh-huh. Well, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just a little longer. Why don’t we sing a song?

What song?

I don’t know. Don’t you know a good song?

Da-aad, I’m dying here.

Don’t be so dramatic, Andy.

What’s dramatic?

Okay, okay. There it is.

Where?

You see that light up there? That’s the auto-recharge station. See? I knew we were close. It’s just around the corner. Just a little bit further, big guy …

Gideon tapped me on the arm and I opened my eyes. The Silver Whisper had left the land behind and was flying over the ocean. Away from the mountains, it had come down from its great height, and was now no more than thirty feet above the water. I squeezed the back of my neck and turned to my side. Gideon was pointing at something he’d seen in the water: the rounded black backs of a pod of whales moving together, tumbling and rolling through the silvery-blue surf. They moved serenely as one, migrating to warmer waters, I assumed. One of them sprayed water from its blowhole as it keeled over.

I thought about the stranded whale on the beach. The one we’d burned because there’d been no other option. I wondered whether we could have done something else for it, something we hadn’t considered because we too had been stranded, without the provision of hope in our hearts.

The Whisper passed the whales, and we arched back to watch as they slid into the distance behind us.

Ahead, there was new land. Our pod raced towards it, and the nearer we got, the easier it was to discern the many tall buildings that fledged the coastline—a city rising from a remote mist.

The Silver Whisper passed over the shore where waves crashed and foamed against enormous concrete blocks. An empty highway ran beside the barricade. Beyond, Gideon and I saw no people at all. We entered the airspace of the city and passed between the skyscrapers, along a main road lined with twenty-foot high billboards advertising products long unavailable. One of these depicted the gigantic head of a handsome man, leering out at us, shaving off his facial hair with a Laser-Razor. Another was an enthusiastic group-shot of the cast of a theatre musical. The grass of a local park had grown long and wild, swallowing benches and swing-sets.

We zipped through the rest of the business district until the skyscrapers gave way to an expansive, wildly overgrown suburb of houses—another ghost town of swampy green swimming pools and untended yards. Then the dense settlement thinned into a few lone houses on the outskirts of the city and the land was once again countryside.

Beyond the rolling hilltops we saw what we knew to be a commune, the high fence enclosing a number of familiar tents. Communers ambled between these tents—people of all ages and ethnicities. As we soared over, they craned their heads and followed our pod with shaded eyes. They were less than twenty or thirty kilometres from a city, but would never have known it. The New Past had done its job:

The renouncement of civilisation.

The desertion of consumer culture.

The crooked proposition of enlightenment.

I’d once chosen to go along with The Renascence (or thought I had), but wondered if there was still any choice left in the matter.

The commune was soon out of sight and our vessel continued over the low green hills and snaking dirt roads of the pastoral landscape.

“You know,” Gideon said. His deep voice was calm and unhurried. “I had a dream last night, in that house. Perhaps it was only a dream, perhaps it was a memory. I don’t know. Either way, it was entirely new to me. It seemed to arrive out of nowhere, as if it had found
me
rather than I had found
it.
Does that make sense to you?”

I nodded. He stopped for a moment and looked out at the world through the wall of the pod.

“In my dream,” he continued, “I am very young. I know this. I’m not sure how I can know such a thing, but perhaps that is the difference between a dream and a memory. In a dream we believe we’re the age we’re dreaming we are, with all the insecurities and … ignorance of that age, yes? In a memory, we see the past with our present eyes. Can either be trusted? I don’t know. Perhaps I’ve got this all wrong. Regardless, in my dream, I am a student living in a big house with other students. The walls are plastered with movie posters and reprints of famous paintings. There’s always music playing from one of the bedrooms.

“Most importantly, there’s a young woman who lives in the room across from mine. She’s the only female living in that house, but she gets on with every other housemate. They treat her like one of them. They joke with her and she jokes with them. They aren’t afraid to be themselves—to be crude or absurd. I know all of these things in this dream. I also know I am not like them. I struggle to see her as just another housemate. Her beauty intimidates me.

“She’s standing in the kitchen near the kettle, preparing a coffee. I slip by her to get myself something to drink from the refrigerator. When I close the refrigerator, she’s standing behind it, holding her cup of coffee, smiling. I’m holding a bottle of tomato sauce instead of the orange juice, which is not what I planned on grabbing. She asks, ‘Why don’t you ever speak to me? Did I do something wrong?’

“In my dream, I shake my head. I say, ‘No, you’ve haven’t done anything.’

“She says, ‘You’re not like them, are you? You’re interested in different things.’

“I say, ‘Maybe.’ Then she kisses the palm of her hand and puts it on my cheek, before walking past me. As she goes, she says, ‘I’m interested in different things too,’ and I think to myself, maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll marry a woman like that. Then I wake up.”

Gideon took a second, and added, “And I am sleeping next to you.”

I laughed and Gideon’s mouth lifted in a shy smile I hadn’t seen before—the smile of a perfect thought. “That was a good dream. And if it is a memory … that would be even better.”

“Maybe you did marry her.”

“Maybe,” Gideon said. “Nevertheless, it is always a good sign to have a good dream before a journey. After a good dream you know everything will be all right.”

I sat back in my seat. I stared at the sweeping terrain before us and brought to mind
my
dream, the one I’d had at the same time Gideon had had his own.

I thought about being tied to the bed and drowning in the darkness. Screaming and straining and watching as Jack Turning sat by the window, uncaring, smoking his cigarette. I thought about how I’d awoken in the morning, sweating and shaking and filled with terror.

“A good sign, indeed,” said Gideon.

Extracts

(Excerpt from the
The Age of Self Primary
)

1.
A questioning mind hampers spiritual and metaphysical acceptance.

2.
Detachment displaces desire.

3.
Knowledge corrupts the self.

4.
The self serves no purpose unto itself.

5.
A calm and patient disposition will ensure a prompt and prosperous ascension.

6.
Every effort must be taken to disown the fraudulent values, traditions and habits of the Age of Self.

7.
The members of the overlooking Body assigned to each commune are your metaphysical equals, but must be respected and obeyed as the facilitators of The Renascence.

8.
Each commune will make no use of previous towns and cities.

9.
There will be no significance placed on biological kinships; the family nucleus must be recognised as both destructive and elitist.

10.
Any communer who dishonours the commune, and thus The Renascence, will be required to commit to a period of forced detachment.

11.
The rewards of the willing participant are boundless; the unwilling participant selfishly impedes the process, and betrays us all.

Two lights

K
ayle was looking forward to a weekend away. It had been Sarah’s idea—she was full of those kinds of ideas—but as the weekend neared he’d found himself increasingly pleased at the prospect of a break from the humdrum of regular life. At the university, students and faculty had had to contend with the administrative and preparatory nightmare of examinations, but now it was done. No more lectures for a few more weeks. No more papers to mark and submit, no more nagging students rapping on his office door every five minutes “wondering” whether there was anything else they could do to boost their average.

Sarah needed it too. Her physiotherapy practice was finally taking off and she had more new clients than she could have hoped for, but even a pair of healing hands needed a session or two to massage out the knots and kinks of hard work.

“Okay, okay. There it is,” Kayle said as he drove the AV along the dark mountain pass. It was a two-hour drive to the lodge Sarah had booked for the family’s weekend, and the juice they’d given Andy and Maggie in the backseat was back with a vengeance; Andy was in desperate need of a toilet.

“Where?” Andy asked. He’d been griping for ten minutes.

“You see that light up there? That’s the auto-recharge station. See? I knew we were close. It’s just around the corner. Just a little bit further, big guy …”

Sarah sat in the passenger seat and stared out into the dark woods that walled the road. Kayle looked at her and placed his hand on her thigh, and she turned to smile at him—wide and warm and dashed with two adorable dimples. He loved his wife, he’d always loved her, but their house had recently seemed more of an office than a home, with each of them running around to administer their children’s busy little lives. But now the lodge was waiting—two rooms, a pool, a trampoline and various other activities to entertain the kids while Mom and Dad enjoyed some alone time.

“Dad!” Andy whined.

Sarah turned her head to her side. “Andy. We can’t go any faster, and we can’t stop here. Two minutes, my boy.”

Maggie giggled beside her brother. She’d always been a laughing baby, and now at five, she still saw the lighter side of almost everything. She was tiny, even for her age, and the seat belt just about held her in. She clapped her hands and giggled again. Her brother was an animated sufferer, and his many jittery attempts to hold his bladder must have made him look like a silly, broken robot.